


Apple

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-04-22
Packaged: 2018-10-22 11:25:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Spock keeps his unruly attendant.





	Apple

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for “Royalty AU” prompt on [my bingo card](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/158937866370/fic-bingo). I’m setting this around a late Reform, so there are still clans and lords and Spock can be a prince, but Surak’s ideals are still catching on, and the house of Sarek tries to abide them.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The disappointment is clear on his father’s face as he enters the house, yet again, alone. As Sarek doesn’t condone such displays of emotion—except, apparently, when used to scold his son—Spock says nothing of it. He merely nods curtly and sheds his cloak and boots, retreating to the staircase that leads directly to his wing. He made no promises that he would find another servant in the capital, though his father suggested it rather pointedly. The reason he didn’t bring his existing attendant was not to save public face, but simply that Jim—or _James_ , as Sarek sternly calls him—does poorly in the desert heat this time of year.

Spock’s quarters are kept a notch below what he finds comfortable for just that reason, though he would never admit that truth aloud. Luxuriating at just a smidgen above the ideal Terran temperature, Jim lounges across Spock’s bed, laid out on his stomach, a tablet glowing in his hands.

As soon as he notices Spock’s entered the room, his grin dissipates, and he scrambles off the bed, as though Spock didn’t already know how wholly inappropriately he behaves when he’s alone. He shoves the tablet unobtrusively into Spock’s nightstand—it is, after all, _Spock’s_.

With a breezy air like the impropriety never occurred, Jim sweeps forward. As attractive as his toned body is in the traditional servant’s garb of a simple skirt and sandals, sometimes Spock considers it a nuisance. Surely if Jim were fully covered, it would be easier to reprimand him.

As it is, he never gets the chance; Jim’s already reached him, bowing once in respect and reciting dutifully, “I have your bath ready, my lord.”

Spock nods and strolls right past Jim towards his bathing chambers—he has no wish to linger with the memory of Jim’s near-naked form stretched idly across his mattress. He’s in enough trouble with his father as it is.

Sure enough, the porcelain tub in the center of the room is filled with water, the metallic heating plates underneath keeping it hot for him. Once or twice, Jim’s mentioned that Terrans now use a different method—‘sonic showers’, he called them—but when Spock suggested implementing similar units and thus alleviating Jim’s need to attend to him here, Jim hurriedly denounced the Terran method. It’s with a certain, albeit traitorous, anticipation that Spock stands beside his tub. Jim steps in front of him, hands straying to the thick sash that binds Spock’s robes. His eyes stay upwards. It would be entirely inappropriate for a servant to ogle their lord’s body whilst undressing them, though, of course, it’s also quite inappropriate for Jim to maintain eye contact the entire time.

Spock allows it anyway. He enjoys the depths of Jim’s blue irises as his robes are drawn open and brushed carefully over his shoulders. He helps shrug them off and doesn’t miss the slight hitch in Jim’s breath. He still remembers the hungry flush that crossed Jim’s cheeks when he was first hired.

Spock turns to climb into the tub, and he doesn’t need to look to know where Jim’s gaze has strayed. He allows it, pleased that he’s kept up his training and should, he hopes, be in his peak condition.

He eases into the nearly scalding water with a contented sigh. Stretching his arms around the sides, he settles, and lets his head tilt back against the rim. Jim quickly disappears to take Spock’s discarded robes, then returns with a brush and soap. He comes to settle behind Spock on the floor, and Spock obediently lifts his head. This is one of the many tasks that he could easily do himself, and the attendance of another seems bizarrely decadent, at least according to Surak’s latest teachings, which Spock’s read as avidly as his father. Yet at the same time, he hopes the custom won’t be abolished in his lifetime, or at least, in Jim’s. Jim’s soap-slicked hands slide into his hair, weaving expertly around the curve of his scalp. Jim’s done this many times, and he knows just how Spock likes to be touched.

With some effort, Spock withdraws from the feeling. It’s another irksome temptation, the way Jim sensuously weaves through Spock’s hair, thumbs gently caressing the back of his neck. Jim meticulously massages in the soap, then rakes all of Spock’s hair back, taking extra care in the parts he tucks behind the pointed tips of Spock’s ears. 

Spock considers a dialogue for distraction, but then, the familiar timber of Jim’s voice can be just as enticing. He knows it all, anyway; they’ve spoken far more than a lord and servant should. He knows of Jim’s past, he knows of Jim’s choices, he knows that Jim came to Vulcan for a love of _aliens_ , though here, _Jim_ is the exotic treat. His fair colouring, his blond strands and clear eyes, are the rarest of combinations. His mannerisms are no better. Even here, amidst his duty, his hands are far more _loving_ than they should be; Spock is sure he can feel the sentiment through the soft pads of Jim’s fingertips.

Not for the first time, he wonders what would happen if he invited Jim to join him, perhaps even pulled Jim down into his lap, and rocked against him beneath the surface of the water whilst joining their minds. Spock’s eyes fall closed, lost in a vivid daydream of such _pleasure_ , while Jim rinses away the suds. 

Then Spock’s hair is clean, and Jim is bringing a cloth to his side. Knowing the ritual, Spock opens his eyes and glances at the outstretched hand. Many servants would wash their lord entirely, but Spock made the mistake of insisting Jim need do no such thing on his first day; it seemed, at the time, wholly embarrassing, no matter Surak’s condemning of such emotion. Now he regrets that precedent, and he can see the unspoken offer on Jim’s face.

He resists. He’s fallen deep enough as it is. He plucks the cloth from Jim’s palm and brings it to drag across his own chest. He looks away, and Jim stays there, finally murmuring in a slow, deep, almost-purr, “If you wish, my lord, I’d be happy to help you with that...” His words are jarringly colloquial, but his tone is tantalizing. Spock reminds himself that he’s a disgrace to his father’s house and keeps his eyes averted.

He answers tightly, “No, thank you, Jim. That will be all.” And for the second time in less than an hour, he faces a look of disappointment.

But Jim recovers swiftly, bows, and says, “I’ll fetch your night robes.” And he heads back to Spock’s bedchambers, taking his forbidden allure with him.

Spock sinks deeper into the tub and wonders how long he can take this.


End file.
